


Bookseller in Soho

by Aludnev_of_Uberwald



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell (TV), Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: Angels, Aziraphale is "just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing" (Good Omens), Aziraphale's Bookshop (Good Omens), Bookstores, Ficlet, Gen, No Spoilers, No prior knowledge of the Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell required, Not Beta Read, Pre-Canon, Regency
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-30
Updated: 2020-01-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:21:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22476280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aludnev_of_Uberwald/pseuds/Aludnev_of_Uberwald
Summary: Since Aziraphale opened his shop that morning he knew it was not going to be a nice day.There was a man in shabby black coat leaning on a doorframe who appeared to be waiting for him for some time.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), John Childermass & Gilbert Norrell
Comments: 2
Kudos: 36





	Bookseller in Soho

**Author's Note:**

> I slightly altered both canons to fit together (fortunately these two books have quite a lot of mythology in common).  
> This fic is inspired by several Tumblr posts.

Since Aziraphale opened his shop that morning he knew it was not going to be a nice day.  
There was a man in shabby black coat leaning on a doorframe who appeared to be waiting for him for some time. Aziraphale unlocked the door and let the man in. His face was unfazed as if Aziraphale was not supposed to open two hours ago.  
  
“My name is John Childermass and I came here on behalf of Mr Norrell of Hurtfew Abbey.”  
  
When he spoke Aziraphale recognized in his voice Yorkshire accent which felt quite out of place here in London. The same could be said about gentleman himself. He seemed to be more suited for moors of Northern England where a wild wind would comb his long black hair than for a city.  
  
“My master had heard that you have a great number of books of magic in your possession and he would like to purchase them for a very favourable price.”  
  
Aziraphale's lips became a thin line. Now all angelic kindness must go aside. He looked the man straight in the eye and said: “I am very sorry, but your master must be mistaken. Unfortunately, I have yet did not have the luck of getting my hands on any book _of_ magic. Although I have a couple of books _about_ magic if you were interested in those as well.” Lying should not come this easily to an angel, but in this case, it was for greater good.  
  
Magicians were the most irritating and tenacious clientele Aziraphale ever had the misfortune to encounter. That is why he always had in stock a few publications so dull and insignificant they made every customer soon leave in disgust.  
  
“May I see them?”  
  
Aziraphale turned around without a word. In backroom of his shop he ostentatiously omitted The Book of the Lady Catherine of Winchester, De Tractatu Magicarum Linguarum and other striking titles and grabbed three scuffed volumes which he then carelessly scattered on a counter in from of the customer who skimmed through them without any sign of interest – just as Aziraphale expected.  
  
“I heard that you acquired The Book of the Lady Catherine of Winchester some time ago.”  
  
Aziraphale grinded his teeth. That was true indeed, but it happened about five hundred years ago and Aziraphale had no idea how this man could possibly know about it.  
  
“As I said – you must have wrong information.”  
  
“My master is willing to pay a five hundred guineas.”  
  
This proposition did nothing to soften Aziraphale.  
  
“You should know that my master Mr Norrell is looking for books of magic all over England – he believes that revival of practical magic is afoot I am of the same opinion. The books you have in your possession could be useful in re-establishing English magical tradition and possibly help war effort.” he said, but there was no hope in his voice.  
  
At that moment bell above door rang as someone entered the shop. It was Crowley and Aziraphale did not know if his presence here was more inconvenient or relieving.  
  
“Angel, I thought we might…” he started, but then noticed his friend is not alone.  
  
Childermass looked at Aziraphale. “Maybe I should come when you do not have other costumers.”  
  
“There is no need. You may speak freely in front of my friend - Mr Crowley,” Aziraphale said to Childermass with a sigh.  
  
Crowley glanced over books on the counter.  
“Are you a magician?” Crowley asked – slightly amused, as he was familiar with Aziraphale's feelings towards this profession - and pushed his dark glasses down his nose a little so the stranger could have a good look on his eyes – based on Crowley's experience only magicians were able to see his eyes as they were, but this gentleman either did not have any magical talent or had very good control over his facial expression.  
  
“I would not call myself a magician. But I work for one.” Childermass turned back to Aziraphale. “I suppose you have not changed your mind.”  
  
“You are correct.”  
  
“And out of my personal curiosity – may I ask what are celestial beings doing on English soil?”  
  
Aziraphale's hostile expression now turned into outright murderous.  
  
Childermass did not wait for Aziraphale to ask. “I sensed something queer ever since I came to your shop. This place is full of magic, but it is not the magic I know from my master. There are not many accounts on meeting an angel, but those that exist talk about unnatural feeling of tranquillity in radius of few strides. Mr Crowley's snake eyes just confirmed my suspicion.”  
  
“If I remember the etiquette correctly, we are not obliged to answer that question,” said Aziraphale.  
  
Childermass left shortly after.  
  
-  
  
“Your lot is not very fond of magicians, are they?” asked Crowley as he poured himself another glass of wine he brought.  
  
“It is not that simple…” started Aziraphale, but was promptly interrupted.  
  
“You would not believe how often some of them wandered to Our Place. Humans are not supposed to do that! Especially not because 'they were just curious'. And believe it or not Lucifer still twitches when you mention – how the Hell humans call him? – The Raven King in front of him. Him leaving was the only good thing about fourteen century [1]. He was the worst of all bloody magicians. One was almost grateful to fairies for keeping them so busy.” Crowley scoffed “Thomas Godbless was fun though and the new ones at least stay inside all day or just scam people.”  
  
“They make my head ache. Literally the only thing they care about are books and how to get more of them,” sighed Aziraphale as if remembering something painful “And they keep coming back.” Although Aziraphale admitted to himself that a magician who came a fortnight ago was actually very nice and looked so let down that Aziraphale was almost tempted to break his custom of not selling anything. “This Mr Norrell must be a real magician – you know how meddlesome they can be with their overseeing spells and silver basins. How else he could possibly know I have Catherine of Winchester?”  
  
“No, no,” Crowley protested “that is over. The Raven King is running somewhere around Faerie and leaves us alone.”  
  
-  
  
When Childermass entered library at Hurtfew Abbey he was greeted by anticipating look on Mr Norrell's face.  
  
“He will not sell it,” said Childermass to his master “actually - he denied that he has it at all.”  
  
“That is nonsense! Of course, he has the book – the spell cannot lie. Did you offer him the sum I told you?”  
  
“Yes”  
  
“And he still will not sell it?”  
  
Childermass raised an eyebrow “Would you sell your library?”  
  
“That is a different matter entirely!” Mr Norrell snapped “I need those books. I do not understand how some bookseller in Soho could have better use of them than I do. What is more they could so easily fall into careless hands and I do not even want to imagine consequences of that.”  
  
“Nevertheless, stubbornness is not the most intriguing feature of this Soho bookseller,” said Childermass.  
  
“Is he magician? A practical one?”  
  
“It is not that serious,” laughed Childermass “He is an angel.”  
  
Norrell eyes widened by astonishment.  
  
“The place was full of magic – neither human's nor fairy’s.”  
  
Norrell frowned.  
  
“Angel is the better option. Imagine if he was a fairy,” added Childermass.  
  
“How is that better? You very well know that despite popular believe angels are no easier to be dealt with than fairies.”  
  
“But angels are generally more polite – meaning that they are less likely to spill your blood simply because they like the colour of it.”  
  
“And what would you advise?”  
  
“Leave him alone. I would not recommend upsetting an angel more than necessary. You do not have to worry about him selling the books to someone else – he seemed utmost opposed to that idea.”  
  
-  
  
Over the years Crowley nearly forgot about the incident. Till one winter morning in 1806 when Crowley came to Aziraphale's shop and the angel showed him an article in Times.  
  
“Extraordinary Occurrences In York: An Appeal To The Friends Of English Magic” Crowley read aloud.  
  
Crowley came to conclusion that if Mr Norrell is to be The New Great English Magician he would rather sleep through his reign.  
  


###### [1]

######  It appears that memory failed Crowley in this case as John Uskglass (The Raven King) is known to leave his Kingdom of England in 1434. But it is understandable that after a several millennia thirty years do not mean much to a person.

**Author's Note:**

> Seriously, I think we are not talking enough about the fact that angels and Hell canonically exist in Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell.  
> Also I wonder what Neil Gaiman would think about this crossover (since he called Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell “The Best British fantasy novel in the last seventy years”).


End file.
